


On a Park Bench

by Muffie



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, First Date, Insecurity, M/M, OT3, Space Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year ago, Trowa did the only thing he could for Quatre, the man he loved more than anything else. He let Quatre go. Heero, Wufei, and Quatre have things to say. [First Posted: April 23, 2006]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windsorblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/gifts).



A year ago, he'd sat on this very bench, wearing this very trench coat, and watched the warm spill of candlelight through that cafe's very window. He'd pulled his bangs off to one side and worn a pair of small, round lenses. He'd been going for technogeek and ended up with something a little too beat poet. He'd missed technogeek this year, too, but he'd been mistaken for a painter or sculptor. Maybe he'd have to give up black; it seemed to bring out the inner artist in him, the inner artist that didn't really exist. It had been cold then, too. He had seen his breath huffing in the faint moonlight and the snow had fallen with thick, heavy flakes. Like now, he hadn't felt the chill, he'd only the felt the burn in his chest. He'd been contemptuous of the trite and melodramatic idea of ripping one's heart out. He'd learned otherwise a year ago. It still hurt.

The difference between now and then was the face next to the window. Last year, the face had been framed by unruly blonde curls that did nothing to hide tears tracking down cheeks that belonged more on a porcelain cherub. Quatre had visibly sniffed his way into a sort of pained stoicism that didn't fit him. He'd fiddled with his fork, sipped at his water, and stared at a front door that he knew wouldn't open. He knew it wouldn't open because Quatre had reserved the entire cafe for the night, just for them, and he wouldn't be going in. This year, Quatre's face shone as he stared at the door, his joy visibly leeching everywhere. The cafe had again been reserved and the champagne was the finest he could find. No doubt the chubby, little chef sang in the kitchen, lining the ingredients for his most magnifique crea—

"I'm not surprised to find you here, Trowa."

He flinched, beneath his trench coat where no one could see it. "Heero."

Heero settled onto the bench next to him, wrapped in a navy peacoat. "Are you going in?"

He frowned at Heero, then tucked his chin into his scarf.

"I didn't think you would." Heero stretched his legs out comfortably. "You sat here and watched him last year, didn't you?"

"What do you want?"

Heero shrugged, his eyes on Quatre. The usually harsh lines of his expression were gentle. "Did you stay for the whole thing last year?"

He rubbed at his cheek and watched Quatre spend a few moments in conference with the owner of the cafe. "No."

They sat in silence for a few moments, while Quatre bounced in his seat and watched the cafe's owner trot off toward the back.

Trowa cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to ask why I did it?"

"Nothing to ask. You followed your emotions." Heero shrugged again. "I think you're the only one who followed that advice."

He scowled. "It was the right thing to do."

"Most of it was."

 _Most_? Trowa turned his scowl to his feet. "What do you mean by that?"

Heero didn't say anything.

"Well?" He looked up from the ground and met Heero's eyes. He had thought they'd be boring through his skull, to see what sort of dangerous secrets lurked inside, instead, Heero was watching him with something between sadness and concern. "You didn't just give him up, you gave up all of us."

He couldn't stop the tension seeping along his spine. "I didn't _give_ anything up."

Heero smiled, looking so much like the little boy he hadn't been allowed to be. "I know you, better than he ever did. You gave him up so he could—"

A few blocks away, the cathedral bells pealed the _Angelus_. Quatre quit his nervous bouncing and turned toward the door again. Trowa squinted enough to see the anticipation fighting with apprehension on his face. Quatre had no need to worry, he knew. Heero chuckled beside him, quiet and almost happy. Before the bells finished, Wufei climbed out of a cab, paid the fare, and went into the cafe. Quatre shot to his feet and cuddled Wufei into a hug.

That...hurt.

"It's their first real date. Wufei made them wait for a year."

He pulled the trench coat tighter around himself and wished that Heero would just go away.

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? It's why you made sure that Duo and I had tickets to the game that night. You knew that Quatre would call Wufei when you didn't come, to make sure you weren't suddenly called in or that you hadn't been in an accident." Heero leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

Wufei gave Quatre a lingering kiss before having the seating rearranged. Instead of across from Quatre, he sat diagonally, within touching distance. 

Trowa closed his eyes and forced down the knot in his throat.

Heero slumped back in the bench. "There were better ways to do it, Trowa."

He was suddenly and unreasonably angry. What he would have given for Heavyarms and an unsuspecting Oz base right at that moment. "No, there wasn't."

"You could have told him."

"He knew I loved him. Hell, he probably still knows that I love him." Trowa forced himself to uncurl his fists. "He would never have let me go. He knew I loved him so much, but he didn't know that he didn't love me back."

Heero's head jerked up. "What?"

"Once, he told me that he couldn't tell the difference between my love for him and his love for me. He thought it meant something great for our relationship. And after that I started to understand." Trowa let his hands burl back into fists.

He watched Wufei feed a tidbit Quatre, who shone in a way that burned him to the core.

"Understand what?"

Quatre closed his eyes and kissed Wufei's fingers.

Heero nudged him with an elbow. "Trowa, what did you understand?"

Trowa couldn't tear his eyes away from Quatre's smile. "How much I love him."

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of Heero settling deeper into the bench.

"And how much he didn't love me." Trowa felt himself smile, even though it hurt to do it. "Did you know?"

Heero shifted again. "About Wufei? I think so." 

Trowa's hands relaxed so he shoved them in his pockets. "It was the right thing to do, wasn't it."

"Mostly."

"It was."

Heero poked him with an elbow again. "You didn't have to give all of us up."

He huffed in disbelief. "Yes, I did. There was no way I could stick around."

Wufei paused in his nibbling to steal a kiss. The snow started to fall, dropping thick, heavy flakes. A waiter slipped into the glow of candlelight with a silver hand cart, removed their plates and replaced them with a different course.

"Where'd you go?" Heero was watching him instead of the cafe, he could feel it.

He shrugged. "I went to the place where they made Heavyarms. I thought it would be abandoned. They make pots and pans now."

Heero grunted.

Trowa smiled a little more. It didn't hurt quite so much when it involved Heero. "Got a job. Anodized woks."

The snow settled around their feet and along the sidewalk in front of the cafe. Somehow, Wufei and Quatre had gotten closer together without moving their chairs. 

"Trowa."

"Hmm?"

"Come home."

Foreheads touching, Quatre and Wufei shared some pasta thing.

He looked at Heero who was looking at him. "Maybe you could come to L3. Visit. See a few woks."

Heero didn't say anything, not even a grunt.

He dropped his gaze to the bench between them, picking at the lint inside of his pockets. "It's not time yet."

"When it is?"

He watched Quatre and Wufei kiss again.

"I'll come home."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally did not intend to write anything more for "On a Park Bench", but Windsor Blue's inner OT3er apparently wanted to whack Trowa on the head and make him go for broke. It occurred to me that Wufei would probably want whack Trowa on the head, too. So, here we are. I'm _such_ a dork. So, this chapter, and the one after, is for Windsor Blue's inner OT3er.

He thought that, after years of piloting a mobile suit, if anything went wrong it'd be with his elbows. Now it seemed that he was on a fast track for carpal tunnel syndrome. Almost two years on an assembly line, screwing bolts through wok handles was taking its toll. Trowa dropped onto a bench in the park, rubbing his wrists. Carpal tunnel. Stupid, just stupid. He swiped at his sweat with the back of his hand. Maybe he should pick more physically demanding employment so he could give up this jogging in the park crap. Or he could join a gym. Maybe he should have brought a water bottle along.

A honk yanked his attention to the street more than a dozen meters away. A cab cut across traffic and parked at the curb, half on the sidewalk. He scratched himself idly at the waistband of his shorts, where the sweat started to turn annoying, and watched as the passenger climbed out. He had long, black hair swinging freely around the middle of his back and broad shoulders. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that was—

Wufei. It was Wufei.

If he had that water, he'd choke on it. He could out run him. Wufei was encumbered by a formal looking, Chinese suit and Trowa only had on a pair of shorts and running shoes. He could get away, have his half-packed bag all the way packed, and make it to the port before Wufei could get to his apartment. He could.

Wufei flowed to a stop right in front of him. "Hello, Trowa."

Trowa nodded a bit, wishing he hadn't tied his hair back.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"You don't have your sword with you, do you?"

Wufei looked startled for a moment, then smiled. "I am unarmed."

Trowa waved his hand over the open half of the bench and pretended an interest in traffic.

"I have no plans to hurt you." Wufei sat, arranging his feet casually in front of him. "I will admit that for a long while, I couldn't decide if I should kill you or kiss you. Perhaps both. You hurt Quatre a great deal."

He sighed and watched a pale blue car drop three children at the curb.

"I picked up the pieces two years ago. I gave him a shoulder to cry on and a friend he could have when he needed it. That's what you intended, isn't it? You left so he would turn to me."

Trowa shrugged. 

He could hear Wufei grinding teeth. "Dammit, Barton, that wasn't your decision to make!"

He sighed again. He'd been waiting for something like this for almost two years. 

Wufei tucked a length of hair behind an ear and frowned at the three children running towards the playground. "When Heero returned from his sudden desire to visit L3 in the middle of winter cycle, we managed to get him to confess that he'd come to visit you, you were doing as well as could be expected. He told us why you left." 

Trowa closed his eyes and curled his fingernails into his palms. 

"We thought you left because you didn't love him. I cannot begin to describe how much he hurt when Heero told us that you left because you thought he didn't love you, that he loved me instead."

Trowa sighed. "Now he's happy."

Wufei snorted in disgust. "Heero told us about that nonsense of yours. Something about how you turned coward because you thought Quatre was confused about whether or not he was feeling your love for him."

Trowa forced his jaws to unclench. Did he have to go through this every single year? Who next year, Duo? Relena? The ghost of Treize Khushrenada?

"A few months ago, Quatre told me that he couldn't tell the difference between my love and his. The same thing he told you, right?"

It felt like, like, it felt like he'd fallen from the trapeze and missed the net.

Wufei twisted to face him. "So who should I send him off to, Heero? Or do we count backward and try Duo first? Perhaps we should try a woman? Any suggestions?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you."

Wufei smirked. "It suits me perfectly. Ask Duo."

"What do you want from me?" Try as he might, Trowa couldn't keep his tone even, couldn't keep the growl from his voice.

Wufei was silent for a moment, then he said, "Come home."

He jerked his head around, eyes locking on Wufei. Wufei, apparently, could look no higher than at Trowa's chest.

"Surprised to hear that from me? We miss you. I miss you." Wufei smiled a little. "I'm not giving him up for you, Barton. I've misplaced my martyr complex."

"But...."

"Are you coming home?" Wufei cocked his head a bit, his hair curling around his shoulder. "You told Heero you'd come home when the time was right."

"I did."

"Well, then. The time couldn't be more right."

"But—"

"Woks, Barton. _Woks_."

Trowa tilted his own head and regarded Wufei solemnly.

Wufei smiled, affectionately this time. "Come home, Trowa."

Trowa smiled back.


	3. Chapter Three

Trowa dropped onto the center of the park bench and spread his arms along the back. He sighed, letting the heaviness of the day slip away, and watched the wildlife rehabilitation park's newest resident limp hesitantly from her cave to a sunning rock. The white Bengal carefully pulled herself onto the rock, turned the requisite three times, then flopped down just as he had.

"Doctor Livingstone, I presume?"

Trowa tilted his head to look up at Quatre, then smirked.

"I told Wufei you'd be here. He's upset. He wanted to see you at commencement, Trowa Barton, zoologist." Quatre sat next to him, on the left, and cuddled a shoulder under his arm.

Trowa turned his head and took a deep breath of blonde, flyaway hair. "That's Trowa Barton, zoologist Magna cum Laude."

The Bengal yawned, licking at her lips, and lounged with as supercilious a smirk as he'd ever seen on an animal. He thought about suggesting she be named Dorothy.

Quatre gestured toward the tiger. "Any word from Dr. Marta?"

Trowa sighed, the corners of his mouth tugging down. He wrapped an arm around Quatre and hugged him tighter. The tiger's tail curled and uncurled. "Marta says she'll be here permanently. The break went into the joint and it's doubtful we can rehabilitate it enough for her to survive in the wild."

"Damn."

With his cheek against the top of Quatre's head, Trowa felt a perfect kinship with the tiger on the rock.

"Trowa?"

He rubbed his face against Quatre, just a little. "Hmm?"

"Are you happy? With us?"

"Yes."

"Lately, it feels like you've been distracted. Wufei said he caught you fondling that stupid wok Heero gave you last Christmas." Quatre snuggled in deeper, hugged him just a bit tighter. "Are you thinking of leaving?"

Trowa blinked. _Leaving_?

"I won't let you, Trowa."

Trowa wrapped his arms around Quatre and snuggled right back. He smiled comfortably. "I'm not leaving. I promised, remember?"

"I remember, do you?"

He slipped a finger under Quatre's chin and tilted his head up. "I promised to talk to you and listen before I leave, which I'm not so I haven't."

"That's _try_ to leave."

Trowa smirked. "Going to kidnap me?"

Quatre leered. "You'll make a handsome love slave."

"Aren't I already?"

Wufei leaned over the back of the bench and kissed them both on the cheek. "Not today, Trowa. It's your day. Even if you did have the diploma mailed to you."

Quatre nodded, tugging on Wufei's hair. "Exactly. It's Wufei's turn to be the love slave."

Wufei grunted, then helped Quatre sandwich Trowa on the bench. "Are you missing your woks? Quatre could always quit working for Iria and open a wok manufacturing business here."

Quatre leaned around Trowa to fix Wufei with a dirty glare. "I like the love slave idea better."

Wufei smirked.

"I'm not missing the factory." Trowa frowned and rubbed his wrists. "At all."

Wufei arched an eyebrow. "Then what have you been brooding over?"

Trowa swallowed, though the lump in his throat didn't move. "I haven't been brooding."

"Trowa," Wufei said in that you-better-confess tone of his. 

Trowa swallowed again and pulled the box from his pocket before he could talk himself out of it again. "I have something for you. Both of you."

His hand stalled, hidden between Wufei's thigh and his hip. Everything inside of him was screaming that this was stupid, it was bad, that everything was just fine the way it was and he would only be making it worse. 

Quatre slipped a hand under Trowa's shirt, making him jerk, then began a slow petting through the fine hairs on his abdomen. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Trowa plopped the hand with the box in his own lap, then forced his fist to unclench before he crushed the box. It took two tries to pry it open with the shaking fingers of his other hand.

"Trowa...." Wufei breathed along the curve of Trowa's neck. Sword-calloused fingers pushed the lid of the box off completely, pitching it to the ground.

"You know that wok Heero bought me for Christmas? He says it came from my assembly line." Trowa shrugged and rubbed his thumb over one of the charcoal colored rings in the box and then the other. "Probably not."

Quatre started choking. He slumped over his own knees, a hand on the ground. 

Trowa dropped the box, barely noting that Wufei caught it, and grabbed Quatre's shoulders. "Quatre?" 

The choking became snorts. Quatre finally hit the ground and rolled onto his back. His red-faced snorting rolled into laughter that shook his entire body. 

Trowa shared a look with Wufei, his eyebrow arching. "I think I'm insulted."

Quatre slapped Trowa's knee, then waved his left hand imperiously in the air. "Put it on me. My ring. My anodized aluminum ring. I want it."

Wufei brought the box up to his face and squinted at the rings. After a moment, he shoved the box into Trowa's lap and stuck his left hand out. "I want mine, too."

Trowa gusted out a disgruntled sigh that he didn't mean. "You know these are wedding rings, right?"

Quatre's hand jiggled a distinct command, the laughter tapering off into hiccups. Wufei harrumphed. "It means you won't leave us. Ring. Now."

Trowa smiled, just a little, behind his hair and slid the smaller ring onto Wufei and the bigger one onto Quatre. 

Quatre held his hand up, fingers splayed, and admired it. "Iria's going to kill you, you know. I can't believe you had our wedding bands made out of a _wok_."

"I had them engraved." Trowa leaned back in the bench and watched the Bengal stare at them with narrow-eyed interest. He couldn't stop the smile from spreading. " _You are my home_."


End file.
